


A Conversation

by Dexidoodle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kinda..., sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 16:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexidoodle/pseuds/Dexidoodle
Summary: Show-Canon from the end of Episode 5.Sandor Clegane is lying in the settling ash and dust of Kings Landing. Make of it what you will.Only marked M 'cause Clegane like the F-word... and so do I.





	A Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> OK so, I wrote this super quick, because I'm waiting for my repair guy to arrive and fix my stuff.  
> Just a thought circling in my head  
> Oh & I didn't proof it, Y'all can be my beta's. I will fix any errors.

He wasn't dead.

... and that fucked him off.

He'd gone to all of that trouble to hunt his cunt of a brother down, undead and ugly as sin as he was and chuck him off the Red Keep, into the flames of Daenerys Targaryens burning city. He'd taken him down, made the ultimate sacrifice in doing so and he wasn't FUCKING DEAD.

'Fuck my life.' He thought darkly as he lay amongst smoldering embers looking up into a smoke choked sky and the crumbling ruins of the formerly glorious spectacle of the Red Keep.

Why wasn't he dead?

He turned his head painfully and looked at the body Gregor Clegane. It was still burning and definitely dead this time. The fall didn't kill him, the fire did. Fire always does it.

Except for _him_ .

The fall should have killed _him_. The fire should have killed _him,_... but neither had. He was in pain. He was in a LOT of pain. He could even feel the fire licking at him but it didn't burn. He doubted that he had suddenly turned Targaryen with their flame-impervious skin. He could feel the jagged masonry under him, dust and ash clogging his lungs as he breathed.

He shrugged, picked up a brick from amongst the rubble at his side and tossed it carelessly at his brothers scorched corpse. It bounced of Gregors ugly head and tumbled back to earth with a thud. Sandor Clegane chuckled; a raw, tearing sound that degenerated into a painful coughing fit that petered out into laboured gasps. Mayhaps this was one of the seven heavens and his reward was to bombard his brother with bricks for all eternity. 

Not bad. He could live with that. He fumbled about in the ash and took up another brick.

"I'm not done with you." A quiet feminine voice called softly from his other side.

He turned his head slowly and beheld a young woman standing unconcerned between two shattered pillars and on a carpet of dancing orange flame. The brick fell from his hand.

Her skin was tawny brown, like one who hailed from Essos. Her eyes soft brown but tinted gold. It was her hair that was the wonder; like a living tapestry that seemed to undulate in the still air, swaths of platinum, gold, auburn coalesced into a wave of pure smokeless flame when it burned at its hottest. Some might call her beautiful. Not him though, he'd seen true beauty.

He thought her young at first but her face was ageless and wise. No, Not wise. Smug. Bitch!

"What do you want?" He growled looking back up into the smokey sky. "I'm trying to die."

"Time is cyclical." The woman said cryptically, taking a step towards his prone form. "and the world turns."

"I don't care if it's shaped like a cock and vibrates." He grunted at the crazy bint. Where did that brick go? He wasn't in the mood for cryptic.

"My point," She said airily, "is that you're not done. I'm not done with you."

"Fuck off." He closed his eyes.

He heard her approach and wondered vaguely how she was walking through the fire but shrugged it off. He was lying in fire, who was he to question.

He opened his eyes again and found her squatting down next to him in the embers and detritus.

He then wondered HOW he was seeing her. His brother had gouged his eyes. In the moments before he tackled his brother though the wall of the disintegrating keep, he had barely been able to make out his hulking, blury form.

"Who are you?" He growled, suddenly suspicious of this ethereal young/old woman.

"I am R'hllor" She said, smoothing the fabric of her plain homespun dress over her knees as she knelt at his side.

He laughed. He laughed hard, coughing and spluttering in the smoke and ash at his mirths conclusion.

She sat quietly and patiently at his side.

"You're the Lord of Light, aye?" He grated eventually with another barking laugh. "Lords come with teats and cunts now?" He lay his head back down and closed his eyes again.

"I gave you my kiss." She whispered, running a fingertip over the scarred side of his face. "I marked you as mine. I gave you a vision in the flames."

She cupped his cheek "You fear me yet, you fell willingly into my arms."

He twitched away from her touch and glared at her.

"You're my creature, Clegane." She said, smoothing his long black hair back from his face. "You have not served your purpose yet."

"What fucking purpose?" He snapped, slapping her soft hand away. "He's dead...Purpose served. End of Story."

"Your purpose is grander than slaying a dead man." She replied, returning her hand to his hair unfased.

Sandor cast his eyes about and caught a glimpse of the Dragon Queen and her flying lizard circling the Blackwater, still spewing out rivers of flame on those poor sods down below.

"I'm not suppose to kill the fucking dragon, am I?" He asked absently."'cause, Fuck that."

The woman glanced up and then returned her curious eyes back down to him.

"No, She and her child are serving their purpose. Even now, right in this moment."

He grunted uncertainly, watching the dragon dive and belch fire.

"Fire does more than destroy, Clegane. It also cleanses." She smiled softly, as if addressing a small child.

"So, she's cleaning then...Ha!"

"The festering wound is being cauterised... so, yes. And when her purpose is complete she will be neutralised and the true king will take the throne and the cycle will begin again." She turned her eyes back to him. "The Targaryen is not your concern, you're purpose is much more important. Vital to the future of this world."

He breathed in deeply, noting his lungs no longer burned with each breath and that the pains in his back were easing.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" He grunted resignedly. Something was niggling him in the back of his head... why was he accepting this so easily?

"Your purpose lies in the North." She said, still smoothing her hands over his hair and face. "I have indulged you this..." She flicked her fingers at Gregors corpse. "and now it is done, you must follow your correct path. North."

"The only thing North are the Wildings, the Wall and Winterfell." He said turning his face away from her. "All three are fine without me."

The woman tutted and shook her head.

"Dense." She muttered. "The Wildings and the Wall?" She tutted again."The Starks." She said, turning his face back to her. "The Starks are North. This Azor Ahai has served her purpose, but she needs a push to move forwards and passed her self-imposed fate. I would see her well and not dwelling on hatred and death." Her lips twitched into a knowing smile. " ... And the other Stark girl..."

"What about the other Stark girl?" He snapped, taking hold of her stroking hand in a crushing grip. "Is she in danger?"

He struggled up from the ground and looked around for his sword. He felt strangely strong as thoughts of the Little Bird... the Lady of Winterfell... Sansa... swirled in his head. How long would it take him to ride?... He needed to find his horse? Would the army get in his way? Fuck them, he'd carve his way through all of them if he needed to, if they stood between him and the Little Bird. Where the fuck was a fucking sword!?

"Calm yourself." the woman soothed from her position on the ground in the ashes. Her eyes were upturned in the corners, following him as he flailed around and a full beaming smile upon her lips. "She is well, and will remain so. She is the last Stark though and must be protected. The raven will soon fly beyond the Wall and Azor Ahai will go to seek her mate, as was intended before she diverted her own course. Go North, Clegane. You need to claim what is yours and ensure that the Stark bloodline continues."

The woman smoothly took to her feet, there was no ash at her knees, no dirt on her anywhere. She gave another brief smile, turned and walked away, soon disappearing in the haze of smoke and dust.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." The soft warm voice whispered past his ear on an errant breeze. "For the night is dark and full of terrors and Winter is always coming."

"Are you going to tell me my fucking purpose or not." He shouted impotently into the sky. "Stupid cunt." He muttered darkly.

He needed a horse and a sword.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 13/07/2019: I'm considering continuing this one... evolving it into a proper story. I have a few WIP's, so will only attempt it if it's actually wanted... up to you guys.


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